Ms. Chapman's Class (Pre-AP) | Bellaire High School 9th ...



3176728531495waves00waves-25518174The Odyssey, Book 11: The Kingdom of the DeadThe Odyssey, Book 11: The Kingdom of the Dead“Now down we came to the ship at the water’s edge,we hauled and launched her into the sunlit breakers first,stepped the mast in the black craft and set our sailand loaded the sheep aboard, the ram and ewe,then we ourselves embarked, streaming tears,our hearts weighed down with anguish …But Circe the awesome nymph with lovely braidswho speaks with human voice, sent us a hardy shipmate,yes, a fresh following wind ruffling up in our wake,bellying out our sail to drive our blue prow on as we,2988000126439the person steering00the person steeringsecuring the running gear from stem to stern, sat back2870200146523tight00tightwhile the wind and helmsman kept her true on course.The sail stretched taut as she cut the sea all dayand the sun sank and the roads of the world grew dark. And she made the outer limits, the Ocean River’s boundswhere Cimmerian people have their homes—their realm and cityshrouded in mist and cloud. The eye of the Sun can neverflash his rays through the dark and bring them light,not when he climbs the starry skies or when he wheelsback down from the heights to touch the earth once more—an endless, deadly night overhangs those wretched men.There, gaining that point, we beached our craftand herding out the sheep, we picked our wayby the Ocean’s banks until we gained the placethat Circe made our goal.276446573497the sheep to be sacrificed00the sheep to be sacrificedHere at the spotPerimedes and Eurylochus held the victims fast,2870790116382a long hole in the ground00a long hole in the groundand I, drawing my sharp sword from beside my hip, dug a trench of about a forearm’s depth and lengthand around it poured libations out to all the dead,first with milk and honey, and then with mellow wine,then water third and last, and sprinkled glistening barley2541182115747bored or restless00bored or restlessover it all, and time and again I vowed to all the dead,to the drifting, listless spirits of their ghosts,2434856115747female cow00female cowthat once I returned to Ithaca I would slaughtera barren heifer in my halls, the best I had, and load a pyre with treasures—and to Tiresias,alone, apart, I would offer a sleek black ram,the pride of all my herds. And once my vowsand prayers had invoked the nations of the dead,3532579124873the underworld00the underworldI took the victims, over the trench I cut their throatsand the dark blood flowed in—and up out of Erebus they came,flocking toward me now, the ghosts of the dead and gone …Brides and unwed youths and old men who had suffered muchand girls with their tender hearts freshly scarred by sorrowand great armies of battle dead, stabbed by bronze spears,men of war still wrapped in bloody armor—thousands2658140127015whitening00whiteningswarming around the trench from every side—unearthly cries—blanching terror gripped me! I ordered the men at once to flay the sheepthat lay before us, killed by my ruthless blade, and burn them both, and then say prayers to the gods,to the almighty god of death and dread Persephone.But I, the sharp sword drawn from beside my hip,sat down on alert there and never let the ghostsof the shambling, shiftless dead come near that bloodtill I had questioned Tiresias myself.But firstthe ghost of Elpenor, my companion, came toward me.He’d not been buried under the wide ways of earth,not yet, we’d left his body in Circe’s house,unwept, unburied—this other labor pressed us.But I wept to see him now, pity touched my heartand I called out a winged word to him there: ‘Elpenor,how did you travel down to the world of darkness?Faster on foot, I see, than I in my black ship.’My comrade groaned as he offered me an answer:‘Royal son of Laertes, Odysseus, old campaigner,the doom of an angry god, and god knows how much wine—they were my ruin, captain … I’d bedded downon the roof of Circe’s house but never thoughtto climb back down again by the long ladder—headfirst from the roof I plunged, my neck snappedfrom the backbone, my soul flew down to Death. Now,I beg you by those you left behind, so far from here,your wife, your father who bred and reared you as a boy,and Telemachus, left at home in your halls, your only son.Well I know when you leave this lodging of the deadthat you and your ship will put ashore againat the island of Aeaea—then and there,my lord, remember me, I beg you! Don’t sail offand desert me, left behind unwept, unburied, don’t,or my curse may draw god’s fury on your head.No, burn me in full armor, all my harness,heap my mound by the churning gray surf—a man whose luck ran out—2690037114654funeral ceremony00funeral ceremonyso even men to come will learn my story. Perform my rites, and plant on my tomb that oarI swung with mates when I rowed among the living.’‘All this, my unlucky friend,’ I reassured him,‘I will do for you. I won’t forget a thing.’ So we satand faced each other, trading our bleak parting words,I on my side, holding my sword above the blood,he across from me there, my comrade’s phantomdragging out his story.But look, the ghostof my mother came, my mother, dead and gone now …Anticleia—daughter of that great heart Autolycus—whom I had left alive when I sailed for sacred Troy.I broke into tears to see her here, but filled with pity,even throbbing with grief, I would not let her ghost3306445101127ghost00ghostapproach the blood till I had questioned Tiresias myself.3219450173901Tiresias was from the city of Thebes.00Tiresias was from the city of Thebes.At last he came. The shade of the famous Theban prophet, holding a golden scepter, knew me at once and hailed me:‘Royal son of Laertes, Odysseus, master of exploits,man of pain, what now, what brings you here,forsaking the light of dayto see this joyless kingdom of the dead? Stand back from the trench—put up your sharp swordso I can drink the blood and tell you all the truth.’Moving back, I thrust my silver-studded sworddeep in its sheath, and once he had drunk the dark bloodthe words came ringing from the prophet in his power:‘A sweet smooth journey home, renowned Odysseus,that is what you seek,2870791105750Poseidon, god of earthquakes00Poseidon, god of earthquakesbut a god will make it hard for you—I know—you will never escape the one who shakes the earth, quaking with anger at you still, still enragedbecause you blinded the Cyclops, his dear son.Even so, you and your crew may still reach home,3192514109220stop00stopsuffering all the way, if you only have the power to curb their wild desire and curb your own, what’s more, from the day your good trim vessel first puts inat Thrinacia Island, flees the cruel blue sea.There you will find them grazing,herds and fat flocks, the cattle of Helios,god of the sun who sees all, hears all things.Leave the beasts unharmed, your mind set on home,and you all may still reach Ithaca—bent with hardship,true—but harm them in any way, and I can see it now:your ship destroyed, your men destroyed as well.And even if you escape, you’ll come home lateand come a broken man—all shipmates lost,alone in a stranger’s ship—and you will find a world of pain at home,crude, arrogant men devouring all your goods,courting your noble wife, offering gifts to win her.No doubt you will pay them back in blood when you come home!But once you have killed those suitors in your halls—by stealth or in open fight with slashing bronze—245612194482well-made00well-madego forth once more, you must …carry your well-planed oar until you cometo a race of people who know nothing of the sea, whose food is never seasoned with salt, strangers allto ships with their crimson prows and long slim oars,wings that make ships fly. And here is your sign—unmistakable, clear, so clear you cannot miss it:3012204102737a tool for separating grain00a tool for separating grainWhen another traveler falls in with you and calls359582713335000that weight across your shoulder a fan to winnow grain, 30115253310400then plant your bladed, balanced oar in the earthand sacrifice fine beasts to the lord god of the sea,Poseidon—a ram, a bull and a ramping wild boar—3437506275103A winnowing fan.00A winnowing fan.2873980179410An oar.00An oar.then journey home and render noble offerings upto the deathless gods who rule the vaulting skies,to all the gods in order.And at last your own death will steal upon you …a gentle, painless death, far from the sea it comesto take you down, borne down with the years in ripe old agewith all your people there in blessed peace around you. All that I have told you will come true.’‘Oh Tiresias,’I replied as the prophet finished, ‘surely the godshave spun this out as fate, the gods themselves.But tell me one thing more, and tell me clearly.I see the ghost of my long-lost mother here before me.Dead, crouching close to the blood in silence,she cannot bear to look me in the eyes—her own son—or speak a word to me. How,lord, can I make her know me for the man I am?’‘One rule there is,’ the famous seer explained,‘and simple for me to say and you to learn.Any one of the ghosts you let approach the bloodwill speak the truth to you. Anyone you refusewill turn and fade away.’And with those words,now that his prophecies had closed, the awesome shadeof lord Tiresias strode back to the House of Death.But I kept watch there, steadfast till my motherapproached and drank the dark, clouding blood.She knew me at once and wailed out in griefand her words came winging toward me, flying home:‘Oh my son—what brings you down to the worldof death and darkness? You are still alive!It’s hard for the living to catch a glimpse of this …Great rivers flow between us, terrible waters,the Ocean first of all—no one could ever fordthat stream on foot, only aboard some sturdy craft.Have you just come from Troy, wandering long yearswith your men and ship? Not yet returned to Ithaca?You’ve still not seen your wife inside your halls?’3104515126026make the journey00make the journey‘Mother,’I replied, ‘I had to venture down to the House of Death,to consult the shade of Tiresias, seer of Thebes. Never yet have I neared Achaea, never onceset foot on native ground,always wandering—endless hardship from that day I first set sail with King Agamemnon bound for Troy,the stallion-land, to fight the Trojans there.3139794141103took your life00took your lifeBut tell me about yourself and spare me nothing.What form of death overcame you, what laid you low,some long slow illness? Or did Artemis showering arrowscome with her painless shafts and bring you down?Tell me of father, tell of the son I left behind:do my royal rights still lie in their safekeeping?Or does some stranger hold the throne by nowbecause men think that I’ll come home no more?Please, tell me about my wife, her turn of mind,her thoughts … still standing fast beside our son,still guarding our great estates, secure as ever now?Or has she wed some other countryman at last,the finest prince among them?’‘Surely, surely,’my noble mother answered quickly, ‘she’s still waitingthere in your halls, poor woman, suffering so,her life an endless hardship like your own …wasting away the nights, weeping away the days.No one has taken over your royal rights, not yet.Telemachus still holds your great estates in peace,he attends the public banquets shared with all,the feasts a man of justice should enjoy,for every lord invites him. As for your father,he keeps to his own farm—he never goes to town—with no bed for him there, no blankets, glossy throws;all winter long he sleeps in the lodge with servants,3309914101009large00largein the ashes by the fire, his body wrapped in rags.But when summer comes and the bumper crops of harvest,any spot on the rising ground of his vineyard rowshe makes his bed, heaped high with fallen leaves,and there he lies in anguish …with his old age bearing hard upon him, too,and his grief grows as he longs for your return.And I with the same grief, I died and met my fate.No sharp-eyed Huntress showering arrows through the hallsapproached and brought me down with painless shafts, nor did some hateful illness strike me, that so oftendevastates the body, drains our limbs of power.No, it was my longing for you, my shining Odysseus—you and your quickness, you and your gentle ways—that tore away my life that had been sweet.’And I, my mind in turmoil, how I longedto embrace my mother’s spirit, dead as she was!Three times I rushed toward her, desperate to hold her,three times she fluttered through my fingers, sifting awaylike a shadow, dissolving like a dream, and each timethe grief cut to the heart, sharper, yes, and I,I cried out to her, words winging into the darkness:‘Mother—why not wait for me? How I long to hold you!—so even here, in the House of Death, we can flingour loving arms around each other, take some joy2796363136437evil ghost00evil ghostin the tears that numb the heart. Or is this justsome wraith that great Persephone sends my wayto make me ache with sorrow all the more?’My noble mother answered me at once:‘My son, my son, the unluckiest man alive!This is no deception sent by Queen Persephone,this is just the way of mortals when we die.Sinews no longer bind the flesh and bones together—the fire in all its fury burns the body down to ashesonce life slips from the white bones, and the spirit,rustling, flitters away … flown like a dream.But you must long for the daylight. Go, quickly.Remember all these thingsso one day you can tell them to your wife.’2604977147704wide variety00wide varietyAnd so we both confided, trading parting words,2700670125287glorious00gloriousand there slowly came a grand array of women,all sent before me now by august Persephone, and all were wives and daughters once of princes.They swarmed in a flock around the dark bloodwhile I searched for a way to question each alone, and the more I thought, the more this seemed the best:Drawing forth the long sharp sword from beside my hip,I would not let them drink the dark blood, all in a rush,and so they waited, coming forward one after another.Each declared her lineage, and I explored them all.And the first I saw there? Tyro, born of kings,who said her father was that great lord Salmoneus,said that she was the wife of Cretheus, Aeolus’ son.And once she fell in love with the river god, Enipeus,far the clearest river flowing across the earth,and so she’d haunt Enipeus’ glinting streams,2806995158277Poseidon00Poseidontill taking his shape one daythe god who girds the earth and makes it tremblebedded her where the swirling river rushes out to sea,and a surging wave reared up, high as a mountain, dark,arching over to hide the god and mortal girl together.Loosing her virgin belt, he lapped her round in sleepand when the god had consummated his work of lovehe took her by the hand and hailed her warmly:‘Rejoice in our love, my lady! And when this yearhas run its course you will give birth to glorious children—2923954115747raise00raisebedding down with the gods is never barren, futile—and you must tend them, breed and rear them well. Now home you go, and restrain yourself, I say,never breathe your lover’s name but know—I am Poseidon, god who rocks the earth!’3253563114079became pregnant00became pregnantWith that he dove back in the heaving wavesand she conceived for the god and bore him Pelias, Neleus,and both grew up to be stalwart aides of Zeus almighty,both men alike. Pelias lived on the plains of Iolcos,rich in sheepflocks, Neleus lived in sandy Pylos.And the noble queen bore sons to Cretheus too: Aeson, Pheres and Amythaon, exultant charioteer.And after Tyro I saw Asopus’ daughter Antiope,proud she’d spent a night in the arms of Zeus himself and borne the god twin sons, Amphion and Zethus,the first to build the footings of seven-gated Thebes,her bastions too, for lacking ramparts none could livein a place so vast, so open—strong as both men were.And I saw Alcmena next, Amphitryon’s wife,who slept in the clasp of Zeus and merged in love307579271755generous00generousand brought forth Heracles, rugged will and lion heart.And I saw Megara too, magnanimous Creon’s daughterwed to the stalwart Heracles, the hero never daunted.[… Odysseus names the many other royal women he saw in the Underworld.]And I saw Clymene, Maera and loathsome Eriphyle—bribed with a golden necklace3009014105750line of people; count00line of people; countto lure her lawful husband to his death …But the whole cortege I could never tally, never name, not all the daughters and wives of great men I saw there.Long before that, the godsent night would ebb away.But the time has come for sleep, either with friends282613489609The Phaeacians, who are listening to his story.00The Phaeacians, who are listening to his story.aboard your swift ship or here in your own house.My passage home will rest with the gods and you.”Odysseus paused … They all fell silent, hushed, his story holding them spellbound down the shadowed hallstill the white-armed queen Arete suddenly burst out,“Phaeacians! How does this man impress you now,his looks, his build, the balanced mind inside him?The stranger is my guestbut each of you princes shares the honor here.267940583849be cheap00be cheapSo let’s not be too hasty to send him on his way,and don’t scrimp on his gifts. His need is great, great as the riches piled up in your houses,thanks to the gods’ good will.”Following her,the old revered Echeneus added his support,the eldest lord on the island of Phaeacia:“Friends, the words of our considerate queen—they never miss the mark or fail our expectations.So do as Arete says, though on Alcinous heredepend all words and action.”“And so it will be”—Alcinous stepped in grandly—”sure as I am aliveand rule our island men who love their oars!Our guest, much as he longs for passage home,2604976104597assortment00assortmentmust stay and wait it out here till tomorrow,till I can collect his whole array of parting gifts. His send-off rests with every noble herebut with me most of all: I hold the reins of power in the realm.”Odysseus, deft and tactful, echoed back,“Alcinous, majesty, shining among your island people,if you would urge me now to stay here one whole yearthen speed me home weighed down with lordly gifts,I’d gladly have it so. Better by far, I’d say.The fuller my arms on landing there at home,the more respected, well-received I’d beby all who saw me sailing back to Ithaca.”“Ah Odysseus,” Alcinous replied, “one look at youand we know that you are no one who would cheat us—no fraud, such as the dark soil breeds and spreadsacross the face of the earth these days. Crowds of vagabondsframe their lies so tightly none can test them. But you,what grace you give your words, and what good sense within!You have told your story with all a singer’s skill,the miseries you endured, your great Achaeans too.But come now, tell me truly: your godlike comrades—did you see any heroes down in the House of Death,2849525136082It’s still early00It’s still earlyany who sailed with you and met their doom at Troy?The night’s still young, I’d say the night is endless.For us in the palace now, it’s hardly time for sleep.Keep telling us your adventures—they are wonderful. I could hold out here till Dawn’s first lightif only you could bear, here in our halls,to tell the tale of all the pains you suffered.”So the man of countless exploits carried on:“Alcinous, majesty, shining among your island people,2764465137072hold back00hold backthere is a time for many words, a time for sleep as well.But if you insist on hearing more, I’d never stinton telling my own tale and those more painful still, the griefs of my comrades, dead in the war’s wake,who escaped the battle-cries of Trojan armies 2002110100433thanks to Helen’s cheating on her husband.00thanks to Helen’s cheating on her husband.only to die in blood at journey’s end—thanks to a vicious woman’s will. Now then,no sooner had Queen Persephone driven offthe ghosts of lovely women, scattering left and right,2764465148280bothered; followed00bothered; followedthan forward marched the shade of Atreus’ son Agamemnon,fraught with grief and flanked by all his comrades, troops of his men-at-arms who died beside him,who met their fate in lord Aegisthus’ halls.He knew me at once, as soon as he drank the blood,2689860-38573high-pitched00high-pitchedand wailed out, shrilly; tears sprang to his eyes,he thrust his arms toward me, keen to embrace me there—no use—the great force was gone, the strength lost forever,now, that filled his rippling limbs in the old days.I wept at the sight, my heart went out to the man,my words too, in a winging flight of pity:‘Famous Atrides, lord of men Agamemnon!What fatal stroke of destiny brought you down?Wrecked in the ships when lord Poseidon rousedsome punishing blast of stormwinds, gust on gust?Or did ranks of enemies mow you down on landas you tried to raid and cut off herds and flocksor fought to win their city, take their women?’The field marshal’s ghost replied at once:‘Royal son of Laertes, Odysseus, mastermind of war,I was not wrecked in the ships when lord Poseidonroused some punishing blast of stormwinds, gust on gust,nor did ranks of enemies mow me down on land—Aegisthus hatched my doom and my destruction,he killed me, he with my own accursed wife …33997909880feed box for livestock00feed box for livestockhe invited me to his palace, sat me down to feast3200400135920shameful00shamefulthen cut me down as a man cuts down some ox at the trough! So I died—a wretched, ignominious death—and round meall my comrades killed, no mercy, one after another,just like white-tusked boarsbutchered in some rich lord of power’s halls for a wedding, banquet or groaning public feast.You in your day have witnessed hundreds slaughtered,killed in single combat or killed in pitched battle, true,but if you’d laid eyes on this it would have wrenched your heart howwe sprawled by the mixing-bowl and loaded tables there,302815390376Agamemnon had taken Cassandra, a Trojan princess, to be his slave and concubine back at his home.00Agamemnon had taken Cassandra, a Trojan princess, to be his slave and concubine back at his home.throughout the palace, the whole floor awash with blood.But the death-shriek of Cassandra, Priam’s daughter—most pitiful thing I heard! My treacherous queen,Clytemnestra, killed her over my body, yes, and I,lifting my fists, beat them down on the ground,dying, dying, writhing around the sword.293246082565funeral traditions that were supposed to ensure that the dead had a good journey to the underworld00funeral traditions that were supposed to ensure that the dead had a good journey to the underworldBut she, that whore, she turned her back on me,well on my way to Death—she even lacked the heartto seal my eyes with her hand or close my jaws. 283889362865like an animal00like an animalSo,there’s nothing more deadly, bestial than a womanset on works like these—what a monstrous thingshe plotted, slaughtered her own lawful husband!Why, I expected, at least, some welcome homefrom all my children, all my household slaveswhen I came sailing back again … But she—the queen hell-bent on outrage—bathes in shamenot only herself but the whole breed of womankind,2586901100241Atreus, Agamemnon’s father, was a terrible king who incurred the gods’ wrath for his treachery – including murdering his nephews and feeding them to his brother.00Atreus, Agamemnon’s father, was a terrible king who incurred the gods’ wrath for his treachery – including murdering his nephews and feeding them to his brother.even the honest ones to come, forever down the years!’So he declared and I cried out, ‘How terrible!Zeus from the very start, the thunder kinghas hated the race of Atreus with a vengeance—his trustiest weapon women’s twisted wiles. What armies of us died for the sake of Helen …Clytemnestra schemed your death while you were worlds away!’‘True, true,’ Agamemnon’s ghost kept pressing on,‘so even your own wife—never indulge her too far.Never reveal the whole truth, whatever you may know;just tell her a part of it, be sure to hide the rest.Not that you, Odysseus, will be murdered by your wife. She’s much too steady, her feelings run too deep,Icarius’ daughter Penelope, that wise woman.She was a young bride, I well remember …we left her behind when we went off to war,with an infant boy she nestled at her breast.That boy must sit and be counted with the men now—happy man! His beloved father will come sailing homeand see his son, and he will embrace his father,that is only right. But my wife—she nevereven let me feast my eyes on my own son;she killed me first, his father!I tell you this—bear it in mind, you must—when you reach your homeland steer your shipinto port in secret, never out in the open …the time for trusting women’s gone forever!Enough. Come, tell me this, and be precise.Have you heard news of my son? Where’s he living now?Perhaps in Orchomenos, perhaps in sandy Pylosor off in the Spartan plains with Menelaus?He’s not dead yet, my Prince Orestes, no,he’s somewhere on the earth.’So he probedbut I cut it short: ‘Atrides, why ask me that?I know nothing, whether he’s dead or alive.It’s wrong to lead you on with idle words.’So we stood there, trading heartsick stories,deep in grief, as the tears streamed down our faces.But now there came the ghosts of Peleus’ son Achilles,Patroclus, fearless Antilochus—and Great Ajax too,the first in stature, first in build and bearingof all the Argives after Peleus’ matchless son.The ghost of the splendid runner knew me at onceand hailed me with a flight of mournful questions:‘Royal son of Laertes, Odysseus, man of tactics,reckless friend, what next? What greater feat can that cunning head contrive?What daring brought you down to the House of Death?—where the senseless, burnt-out wraiths of mortals make their home.’The voice of his spirit paused, and I was quick to answer:‘Achilles, son of Peleus, greatest of the Achaeans,I had to consult Tiresias, driven here by hopeshe would help me journey home to rocky Ithaca.Never yet have I neared Achaea, never onceset foot on native ground …my life is endless trouble.2902689116382blessed00blessedBut you, Achilles,there’s not a man in the world more blest than you—there never has been, never will be one.Time was, when you were alive, we Argiveshonored you as a god, and now down here, I see,you lord it over the dead in all your power.So grieve no more at dying, great Achilles.’I reassured the ghost, but he broke out, protesting,‘No winning words about death to me, shining Odysseus!318764160783a farmer who does not own the land that he works00a farmer who does not own the land that he worksBy god, I’d rather slave on earth for another man—some dirt-poor tenant farmer who scrapes to keep alive—than rule down here over all the breathless dead. But come, tell me the news about my gallant son.Did he make his way to the wars,did the boy become a champion—yes or no?Tell me of noble Peleus, any word you’ve heard—still holding pride of place among his Myrmidon hordes,2562446158337made useless00made uselessor do they despise the man in Hellas and in Phthiabecause old age has lamed his arms and legs?For I no longer stand in the light of day—the man I was—comrade-in-arms to help my fatheras once I helped our armies, killing the best fightersTroy could field in the wide world up there …Oh to arrive at father’s house—the man I was,for one brief day—I’d make my fury and my hands, 320359069496take away00take awayinvincible hands, a thing of terror to all those menwho abuse the king with force and wrest away his honor!’So he grieved but I tried to lend him heart: ‘About noble Peleus I can tell you nothing,but about your own dear son, Neoptolemus,I can report the whole story, as you wish.I myself, in my trim ship, I brought himout of Scyros to join the Argives under arms.And dug in around Troy, debating battle-tactics,he always spoke up first, and always on the mark—godlike Nestor and I alone excelled the boy. Yes,and when our armies fought on the plain of Troyhe’d never hang back with the main force of men—he’d always charge ahead,giving ground to no one in his fury,and scores of men he killed in bloody combat.How could I list them all, name them all, now,the fighting ranks he leveled, battling for the Argives?But what a soldier he laid low with a bronze sword:the hero Eurypylus, Telephus’ son, and round himtroops of his own Cetean comrades slaughtered,lured to war by the bribe his mother took.The only man I saw to put Eurypylusin the shade was Memnon, son of the Morning.Again, when our champions climbed inside the horsethat Epeus built with labor, and I held full commandto spring our packed ambush open or keep it sealed,all our lords and captains were wiping off their tears,knees shaking beneath each man—but not your son.Never once did I see his glowing skin go pale;he never flicked a tear from his cheeks, no,he kept on begging me there to let him burstfrom the horse, kept gripping his hilted sword,his heavy bronze-tipped javelin, keen to loosehis fighting fury against the Trojans. Then,once we’d sacked King Priam’s craggy city,laden with his fair share and princely prize he boarded his own ship, his body all unscarred.Not a wound from a flying spear or a sharp sword,cut-and-thrust close up—the common marks of war.Random, raging Ares plays no favorites.’So I said and2964357145075running like a wolf00running like a wolfoff he went, the ghost of the great runner, Aeacus’ grandsonloping with long strides across the fields of asphodel,triumphant in all I had told him of his son,his gallant, glorious son.[… Odysseus sees the ghosts of famous dead men.]And I saw Tantalus too, bearing endless torture.He stood erect in a pool as the water lapped his chin—parched, he burned to drink, but he could not reach the surface,no, time and again the old man stooped, craving a sip,time and again the water vanished, swallowed down,laying bare the caked black earth at his feet—some spirit drank it dry. And over his headleafy trees dangled their fruit from high aloft,pomegranates and pears, and apples glowing red, succulent figs and olives swelling sleek and dark,but soon as the old man would strain to clutch them fasta gust would toss them up to the lowering dark clouds.And I saw Sisyphus too, bound to his own torture,grappling his monstrous boulder with both arms working,heaving, hands struggling, legs driving, he kept onthrusting the rock uphill toward the brink, but justas it teetered, set to topple over—time and againthe immense weight of the thing would wheel it back andthe ruthless boulder would bound and tumble down to the plain again—so once again he would heave, would struggle to thrust it up,sweat drenching his body, dust swirling above his head.And next I caught a glimpse of powerful Heracles—his ghost, I mean: the man himself delightsin the grand feasts of the deathless gods on high,wed to Hebe, famed for her lithe, alluring ankles,the daughter of mighty Zeus and Hera shod in gold.[…]Heracles knew me at once, at first glance,and hailed me with a winging burst of pity:‘Royal son of Laertes, Odysseus famed for exploits,luckless man, you too? Braving out a fate as harshas the fate I bore, alive in the light of day?317169211976Cerberus: Heracles had to journey to the underworld as part of his famous 12 Labors.00Cerberus: Heracles had to journey to the underworld as part of his famous 12 Labors.Son of Zeus that I was, my torments never ended,forced to slave for a man not half the man I was: he saddled me with the worst heartbreaking labors.Why, he sent me down here once, to retrieve the houndthat guards the dead—no harder task for me, he thought—but I dragged the great beast up from the underworld to earthand Hermes and gleaming-eyed Athena blazed the way!’With that he turned and back he went to the House of Deathbut I held fast in place, hoping others might still come,shades of famous heroes, men who died in the old daysand ghosts of an even older age I longed to see,2976732115230flooding00floodingTheseus and Pirithous, the gods’ own radiant sons.But before I could, the dead came surging round me,hordes of them, thousands raising unearthly cries,and blanching terror gripped me—panicked now288461388132Monsters who could turn people to stone with a glance – for example, Medusa.00Monsters who could turn people to stone with a glance – for example, Medusa.that Queen Persephone might send up from Deathsome monstrous head, some Gorgon’s staring face! I rushed back to my ship, commanded all handsto take to the decks and cast off cables quickly.They swung aboard at once, they sat to the oars in ranksand a strong tide of the Ocean River swept her on downstream,sped by our rowing first, then by a fresh fair wind.” ................
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